Sometimes
by YouRemindMe
Summary: He knows what she is. He knows that she cannot feel. But sometimes...
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello there, unsuspecting person who has had the good fortune to stumble upon my first-ever fanfiction! This is just a short bit of something I wrote. It's intended as a multichip fic, I just want to gauge to reaction before posting any more.**_

_**I am one of those tragic souls that refuse to believe that TSCC is over and who will forever ship Jameron. This bit here is a little angsty, but it does get better.**_

_**Remember this is my first ever fic, so please be nice and review. I totally welcome constructive criticism. Not to sound like I'm pleading for reviews, but...I'm sure they'll make me write faster ; ) Anyways, here it is.**_

**Sometimes**

**Chapter 1.**

Sometimes it's hard to remember.

Sometimes it's hard to forget.

Sometimes he doesn't know which he prefers.

She's metal, but she's so soft.

Would her skin feel real; if he touched it? Her hair... would it be as smooth as he imagines it, remembers it? Of course it would. She's perfect.

She's perfect, and in that way she couldn't be more inhuman. It makes him forget, and it makes him remember.

He hates it, hates her... sometimes. Its better, healthier, to hate her. He knows it isn't logical to hate a machine.

It takes effort. Sometimes he slips; he'll smile at her, look at her. He'll flinch when Derek starts calling her names.

She isn't perfect, though. She is damaged. Her body, her hand...her mind. That's what they don't talk about, more than anything else. There are many things they don't talk about.

He stopped talking to her long ago. It makes it easier.

His life has always been composed of rules, designed to protect him, and those around him. What is it to add some more?

Don't look at her. Don't speak to her. Don't think about her. Do not, _ever_, touch her. It is a mantra that he repeats over to himself; along with others: she doesn't have a soul, she can't feel, she can't _love_.

She kills without remorse or guilt. She kills even without the intention. Because that's what she is designed to do. And machines are nothing if not efficient.

She is a constant. She is a machine with set tasks to perform. He knows her mission, her programming, knows the way she works, the way she _operates_.

But sometimes she surprises him.

It shouldn't be possible for her to do that.

All it takes is a look, too fleeting to be planned. A question about ethics, of no relation to her mission. A hand reaching out to change a radio station, as if she cares.

That is all it takes, and then... everything he tells himself loses its unquestionable truth.

She can turn his world upside down without a thought. Do thoughts go through that far-too-pretty head of hers? Can she do more than analyse? Can she reflect? Can she imagine or create?

He tells himself that she can't.

What are they fighting, if she can?

She can't feel. He knows this.

But sometimes...

**_That's all folks! Well for now- it's up to you. Review and tell me if I should continue. I promise actual John/Cameron interaction in future, and a storyline. And it's not all angst._**


	2. Chapter 2

_**I did say reviews would make me write faster...**_

_**Hey there everybody! I'm back. (Mmuhhahahaha). That was an evil laugh. No particular reason. I just happen to think everyone should indulge in an evil laugh ever now and then.**_

_**This whole story is AU, by the way. So if you're like "What the heck, when did **_**that**_** happen?" Don't worry.**_

_**Spoilers through pretty much all of season two, so tread carefully if you haven't seen it all.**_

_**This is set after Self Made Man. I loved the character of Eric and was not happy at his implied death. So Eric is gonna play a pretty big part in this story. Well, in the next few chapters anyway. When I get around to introducing him.**_

_**Don't worry, this is still, and will continue to be, a Jameron story.**_

_**Sorry not much happens here, things'll speed up later.**_

_**This one is little lighter, I felt bad throwing so much of John's teenage angst at you last time.**_

**Sometimes**

**Chapter 2.**

The Library 

Cameron does not like this woman. She doesn't let Cameron stay as long as she likes. Eric did. She won't let Cameron into the archives, or the Antiquarian Room. Eric let her go almost anywhere. She makes Cameron buy those disgusting jelly-filled-deep-fried monstrosities. Eric was a purist.

She is, in simple terms, a bitch whore.

**...**

It is late when she returns home. Or early; it all depends on perception.

Sarah Connor is asleep, Cameron notes with satisfaction. This is good, regular sleeping habits are important for sustained health.

Derek Reese is out. This is good for _his_ health; or at least his longevity. Alcohol may kill him eventually; but Cameron definitely would, if given sufficient provocation.

She has been much more violent lately. It seems to bring her unusual satisfaction.

Especially if she thinks of Riley.

_Riley-bitch-whore-Dawson. _

This is not her name. But for some reason whenever the girl crosses Cameron's mind, it is always as such.

But she mustn't say it aloud. She did once. Sarah was not happy.

Although Derek seemed oddly amused. Luckily John was not there.

Just as John is not there now. He will be with Riley-bi-no-Dawson. Where he always is. As far away from her as possible.

**...**

Riley's House.

"Okay, come on, admit it! I totally look like the love child of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCarprio...admit it!" Riley demanded, slugging John rather hard in the arm.

"Whoa, fine!" He held up his hands in surrender "I give up; you can look like whoever you want to, okay?"

Riley grinned at him "Smart boy, Johnny. Since you've been so nice, I think you deserve a reward of epic proportions." She shifted closer to him.

"Really?"

"Uh, huh." She leaned closer, only to pull back rapidly. "So, what do you want?"

It is early, and he is tired. Lying on her bed, being offered...what? Anything he damn well wants, he suspects.

It's what she would have been instructed to do.

He stares at her. She doesn't blush as his gaze rakes over her.

He's not thinking what she thinks he is.

She sits there; so blonde and pretty, looking so innocent.

_Such a pretty little liar. _

He seems surrounded by them.

_Cameron_.

Why must his mind _always_ go back to her?

He groans, leaning his head back against the wall.

He feels Riley's hand on his jaw. "Jeez, John. It's not that big of a dilemma. No need to look so tortured." Her hand begins to run down his neck.

**...**

John arrives home two hours and twenty three minutes after her. She counted while she waited. It was still dark outside, just.

Cameron sat on the top right hand corner of his bed and waited, cross legged, concealed by the shadows.

He had left the window unlocked.

She briefly considered re-locking it. But it seemed a little...vindictive.

He creeps in with a quite stealth she had forgotten he possessed.

She feels almost proud. Almost.

He walks over to the closet and opens the door.

She waits for him to notice her, but he doesn't.

"Good morning, John." Cameron says sweetly.

He immediately whips around, automatically reaching out for the gun he remembers he didn't take.

"Cameron! What the fuck!"

She simply cocks her head.

"What are you doing here?" He hissed.

She hadn't moved an inch. "Waiting for you."

"Fine, _why_ are you here?"

She gracefully moves from the bed to walk towards him. Her steps are silent as she makes her way across the floor.

John steps back; only to collide with the closet door.

She stops barely an arm's length away, trapped in the streetlight streaming through the window.

"The question, you'll find; is why have you not been here." It sounds like a statement, but is an obvious question.

"And what the hell is that to do with you?"

"My mission-"

"Yeah, I _know_!" He steps forward, challengingly. "Keep me alive, save the world, etcetera. But look! I'm fine. I went out, I didn't die. A good time was had by all." He leans forward. "What I do, and who I do it with is none of your concern." She is close, so very close.

Too close. "Now get the fuck out of my room."

"No." That in itself surprises him. But her tone absolutely shocks him.

She sounded...pissed. And more than a little defiant.

And it's _very_ attractive.

The arousal is immediately followed by a familiar wave of self-disgust and revulsion.

She stood, back straight, glaring up at him.

Her voice, when it follows, it far too calm. Even for her. "Was your 'good time' 'had' with Riley?"

She allowed only the faintest hint of distaste emphasise the name.

John could practically hear the quotation marks.

"And if it was?"

"Then it was an incredibly stupid action."

"Then it was my stupidity and my business." He moves to sidestep her, but she catches his elbow and spins him around, reversing their positions.

She doesn't let go. "Wrong." She pronounces firmly, definitively.

"Oh yeah, how's that?"

"_You_ are my business. And Riley cannot be trusted."

She is right, of course. He almost tells her so.

But there's something very appealing about her currant attitude.

She's leaning into him now.

He steps forward, trapping _her_ against the closet.

She could throw him to the other side of the room with a flick of her wrist.

But she doesn't.

So he leans down, his entire body pressing against her, to whisper in her ear.

And then he turns and stalks out of the room.

_**So muck for keeping it light. Oh, well. But hey, I got in a semi-fluffy ending.**_

_**Let me know what you think.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N__**: Thanks to everyone who**_ _**reviewed, I tried to reply to everyone, but my internet connection is shoddy, so some of my replies may not have gotten through. But know that I do read them and they really do help.**_

_**It appears I forgot to say this earlier, so: I OWN ABSOLUTLY NOTHING. Seriously, if I did, we all know how the show would have gone down.**_

_**Expect a delay of a few days between chapters from now on. Looking back over what I wrote, I can see heaps of ways it could have been better, and I really didn't take the time to plan out future chapters and to make sure everything flows together that I should have.**_

_**I know it kinda sucks, but you'll get better quality writing because of it- and you'll be happy, and I'll be happy, and then the happiness will spread...**_

_**I'm still updating 'Why Do You Love Me?', but this story has priority, since I started it first. **_

_**I gave you an extra-long chapter to make up for my lateness. **_

**Please know I'm really not happy with this chapter, so I may change it in the near future. I know I missed out some crucial scenes, I may change that or add them in the future, I'm not sure. **

**This chapter was originally very long, so I had to cut it in half.**

**Sometimes**

**Chapter 3. **

The next morning

Her voice ran on a constant loop throughout his head. The tone she used, her gestures...It was official. He was going crazy.

Anthropomorphism: the act of attributing human characteristics to non-human or non-living things.

Non-human and non-living _objects_.

She is, he tells himself, no more than an advanced automaton.

He was beginning to forget again.

John forced himself out of bed, and made his way down the hallway, down the stairs.

He stopped abruptly on the third last step.

Bright morning light filled the lounge room, casting a warm glow on everything it touched. Open windows and doors throughout the house caused curtains to dance lightly. And in the middle of the room Cameron sat, legs folded beneath her, leaning over a book, head slightly inclined.

He watched her gently run a finger along the edge of a page, before turning it. A hand reached out to brush the hair from her face.

A second later she flicked it over her shoulder. He could almost hear her sigh; the gesture was so human. Her face was perfectly serene, her eyes intently focused on the words before her.

Apparently humans were made in god's image. He had never believed in any god.

In that moment he couldn't imagine a being more perfect then her.

Oh, how he so desperately wanted to believe in _her_.

He nearly jumped when her head lifted to look at him. Their gazes met and he smiled at her; he couldn't help it.

A shadow of confusion flitted across her features before a slight smile took its place.

...

Derek watched John enter the kitchen from his seat at the table. The kid had that dazed faraway look on his face. He could guess where it came from.

It was dangerous, the way he looked at her. She was dangerous. Yes, a gun may be a useful tool; but only if you can control it.

Derek had never had any desire to understand the tin cans. He didn't need to; he was only an average soldier- follow orders, blow stuff up, and so forth. Besides, it wasn't like there was anything to understand.

But Cameron was, much as he hated to admit it, _different_. Not in the way that John perceived, or wanted her to be, no. But there was an extra layer to her, an unheard of ability to deceive.

Then there was the fact that she could seem so human. And pretty. Hell, even he had to admit the gift wrapping was perfect. But that's all that it was; something beautiful to hide the ugliness underneath.

Not that John seemed able to remember that. He was fooled far too easily by her fake humanity.

At least he hadn't seen her dancing; that _would_ have been a mind fuck.

John sits down across from him, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Hey." John greets.

"Morning" Derek grunts through his toast.

"So where's Mum?"

"She said something about following a lead. Some dodgy tech company. Said she'd be back by lunch."

"And you let her go by herself?"

"As if anyone could stop her. Besides, nothin' will happen." He pauses to take a swig of coffee. "She's guessing that it may have something to do with the marks on the wall and her currant conspiracy theory." John doesn't look reassured "Nothing will come of it, and she knows it. Sarah's not stupid; she wouldn't put herself in danger."

John sighs and gets up, walking over to the cabinets to rummage for food. He finds a packet of Doritos, and leans against the counter to eat them.

Cameron silently walks through the kitchen. She snatches the bag from his hand as she goes past.

"Hey!" He protests.

She pauses to look over her shoulder. "This is an inefficient breakfast." She explains.

Derek can't help but smirk.

...

When Riley comes over and they decide to paint his room, he remembers what a pleasant distraction she is.

Even though he knows what she is doing, he has come to care for her. She is sweet in a vulgar way, funny and kind. So human.

There are still things he doesn't understand though; she is too careless, too rudimentary a liar to be a hardened soldier. She cannot have come of her own accord. He knows she must have a handler; although they are yet to appear. It doesn't matter. His mother had always taught him the value of patience.

Still, she was hurt, and that was unacceptable.

...

Riley was there, again.

Next time, Cameron decides; she will allow him to fill his body with harmful chemicals and preservatives.

Although, even she must admit, it is somewhat absurd to be concerned about some unfortunate dietary choices when in a few years time they will have to worry about nuclear radiation.

Well, _she_ would worry. He would be as flippant and heroic as ever.

It would make him a legend to his people; to the world.

They didn't know of all the narrowly missed bullets, the far to close assignation attempts.

Or the time she had to break him out of Skynet; before they realised who he was, and anyone at the camp noticed he was gone.

He had ignored her warnings about the extra coverage needed, the extremely dangerous area they were travelling. The result of which was him in a very small cage, and her with rather large bullet wounds, and a not insubstantial amount of damage.

He least he had the decency to look contrite. And guilty. Apologetic.

This John, however, didn't seem to have the same ability.

...

The look on Riley's face is one of pure fear.

He doesn't understand why Cameron is so viciously distrusting of her, there is no logical reason. None that she knows of, anyway.

If Cameron did know, he is rather confident that Riley would be dead.

"We need to talk. Now."

"I'm fine. Talk" He can practically feel Riley's relief and Cameron leads him away.

...

He followed her outside.

"She's lying." Cameron states.

"About what?" He asks challengingly

"I don't know," She admits "but her pulse was elevated and her hand was perspiring. She's lying."

"Yeah, her pulse was elevated because you were freaking her out. As usual."

Cameron looked at him, with an expression of almost...pity. "What happened to her face?" the question seems slightly rhetorical.

"I don't know," he said dismissively "she didn't say."

Cameron obviously didn't believe him, her face told him that much. "I can get her to tell me the truth." She says gently.

She knew what his response would be.

"Stay away from her." He warned, glaring at her before turning away.

Strong fingers grasp his wrist before he can leave.

...

Panic floods through her body. She knows that it knows. The things it says, it must do. Not that it matters now. However much John cares for her; she's as good as dead.

But Riley knows it wouldn't be so simple. There wouldn't be a shot to the head or a broken neck, followed by darkness. The tin can would make certain of that.

Even if she tells everything, it'll kill her. It's what they do. John won't be able to do anything, even if he wants to. She knows he doesn't have as much control of it as he thinks he does.

All she ever wanted was peace. A home, family. Somebody to love her. She had thought that Jesse did, that John might-someday.

She sees a razor on the side of the bath.

But then a voice rings through the door.

...

It had been a long, tiring day; even if it is only lunchtime. All Sarah wants is to take a hot shower. Moving down the hallway she sees John's silhouette out on the balcony. She'll talk to him later, when she can be bothered stringing a sentence together.

She turns to go into the bathroom, only to find it locked. "Derek?" she calls.

No answer comes. "Cameron?" Still nothing. "Hey! Derek, if you've used all the hot water again- so help me-"

"It's just me, Riley."

"Oh, right. Sorry. Are you going to be long? I just-" The lock clicks and the door swings open, revealing Riley.

"Sorry." She smiles "all yours" and steps aside.

Sarah manages to force a greeting out.

"Have you seen John?" the girl asks.

"Outside, last I saw."

"Right, thanks." Riley walks down the hall, in the wrong direction. Sarah considers calling out to her, but finds she hasn't got the energy. Besides, when she glances back out to the balcony, she can she no-one.

...

Cameron gently, but firmly, pulled him the stand next to her, beside the low brick wall, out of sight from the hall.

"You're lying." She states. But her tone is not accusing.

"Huh. And is _my_ pulse elevated?" he asks.

She looks down at her hand, still holding his wrist. She lets go as if burned.

John acutely feels the loss. He hates himself for wanting to reach out and take her hand.

She looked back up at him "No. I don't know. I didn't check."

"Well why'd you grab me?"

"Because I didn't want you leave." She said simply. "And you _are_ lying."

"Yeah, what about?"

"Everything." She said.

He looks at her blankly, barely controlling the pain threatening to cross his face. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" He gets no immediate response "Nothing, right? Nothing you say or do means _anything_."

Cameron closed her eyes and turned partially away. He watched the wind play through her hair.

"What? Not going to cry are you?" He says bitterly, rhetorically "There wouldn't be much point; not with me."

Cameron turned back to him "No." She says softly, vehemently. "I won't cry." She steps back towards him. "I do nothing but what you expect of me."

"What?"

Although standing directly before him, she does not meet his eyes. "I'm a scary robot. That is what you ask of me, and that is what I give you. To be anything else, anything _more_...you cannot comprehend the concept. Let alone accept it."

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**WTF is up with Cameron? What will Riley do? How will John react to Cameron's little speech? **

**Again, please remember I am not happy with this, but I felt really bad not posting anything.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**

**Not much action this chapter, it was a necessary evil for the storyline. More will come later on – cross my heart. I've exams so updates will be longer and more frequent in a few weeks. Enjoy : )**

**Previously**

Cameron closed her eyes and turned partially away. He watched the wind play through her hair.

"What? Not going to cry are you?" He says bitterly, rhetorically "There wouldn't be much point; not with me."

Cameron turned back to him "No." She says softly, vehemently. "I won't cry." She steps back towards him. "I do nothing but what you expect of me."

"What?"

Although standing directly before him, she does not meet his eyes. "I'm a scary robot. That is what you ask of me, and that is what I give you. To be anything else, anything _more_...you cannot comprehend the concept. Let alone accept it."

**Sometimes**

**Chapter 4**

For a moment, everything stops. He has to make the conscious decision to breathe. She spoke clearly, coherently. He heard her. But the words seem disjointed, meaningless...to join them, to discern their meaning... is..._impossible_. It's impossible; what she said.

He manages to look at her, and now she is staring back; wide brown eyes, so open and yet so guarded. The world spins once more and he tries to speak, but finds no words.

Somehow through the daze his mind, his voice, conjures a single thought.

One word.

"Cameron..." two syllables filled with so much; confusion, suspicion, fear and... hope? Each runs through his mind, over and over again, flipping and turning, merging until he knows there cannot possibly be words for what he is feeling.

He watches her watching him. He knows he needs to say something, anything else. Her face gives no clues; it is still, unnaturally so, even for her.

If there was a test, he knows he obviously failed. She dropped her gaze and walked past him.

He stares after her, watching her quickly making her way down the hall.

She turns to go down the stairs, eyes flashing to him once more. But she does not hesitate.

...

John had warned her; in the future. That humans were constantly learning, evolving- much like her. That they could be vastly different people (metaphorically speaking), at different stages in their lives. That _he_ would be different. She knew what to expect, yet it still unnerved her, troubled her.

Out of sight, descending the stairs, she increased her pace. It was incredibly important to be far away from John right then.

He made self control very... difficult. She had had not intended to say what she did; she didn't intend many things when it came to John. Today she had come too close to saying things that should not be said.

She knew she had been right, though, even if he could come to understand...to accept would be impossible.

...If she had nerves, if she could be said to be troubled...had Cameron been human, something of a sarcastic snort would have escaped her at that.

But she wasn't human.

Still, she could be troubled, she could be..._disrupted_. Disgruntled. Disturbed...her mind ran through other 'dis' words.

She had always been intrigued by language; it was one of the first things she had noticed, after her reprogramming- how humans had so many words, so many variations and shades of meaning. So much mad and wonderful chaos. In its programming Skynet had used only the most basic and functional of language.

It was almost a revelation to her, that time she had heard the red-haired woman singing that bizarre tune; it was soft and flowing, faint traces of an accent creeping into her voice, the melody resounding pleasantly in Cameron's mind. There was a beauty to it, beyond its favourable pitch and rhyme. A certain poetry.

In amongst all the ugliness that surrounded, somehow, for some reason, that woman had created an illusion of beauty, if only for a moment.

Not many people sung in the future; let alone wrote or recited poetry. Frivolous beauty; art for art's sake, if you will, was simply not something people could see the use of, or had the time for. Those that could remember, that is.

Later that night John had caught her reciting the song to herself, her face a picture of complete puzzlement; she gave no indication she was aware of his presence, until her head lifted and she spoke.

"I don't understand." She had told him, leaning cross-legged against the cold, grey and dirty concrete.

"What don't you understand?" He asked gently, sitting down across from her. Legs pulled up to his chest, his hand cradled his very heavy feeling head.

"This song..."

"Could you repeat it, please?" He listened to the musical lilt of her voice as she recited the first few lines. "It doesn't seem to make much sense, no. I must say though," The corner of his mouth twitched "The accent was a nice touch. Very authentic."

Strangely enough, Allison had always been an atrocious singer; he had teased her about it, many years ago. The unwanted flash of memories re-awakened painful feelings of loss and guilt, the melancholy he always felt around Cameron. He often wondered if he would ever be able to separate the two of them, stop the constant comparisons.

In response to his comment Cameron simply cocked her head. He sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry Cameron, I'm exhausted. What exactly was it about the song that you didn't understand?"

"How can words be so..?" She stopped. Although her face did not portray it, he could sense her bafflement, her frustration.

She began again "Singing is socially cohesive, a bonding behaviour. The act releases endorphins and reduces stress. It is useful, efficient. Why do you feel the need to interweave a storyline, why use outdated terms and colloquialisms? A simple reverberating alternating monotonous tone and pitch would do as well...and" here she frowned, a recently acquired gesture "...I do not know."

"Which do you think is better? Better, mind, not efficient- alternating monotonous tone and pitch; or words, strange and useless as they may be?" She did not answer him.

He observed her. It was the _not knowing_ that was driving her mad, he knew. Not knowing humans, no longer knowing herself, having an identity beyond a mission. It was times like theses he questioned his decision to allow her life; her autonomy, free will.

Not that he ever really had a choice. If he were to believe what he had been told that night so long ago, it was always going to be like this, was meant to be like this. Her. Cameron. Her and him. Him losing her.

So much for the whole 'no fate' line.

He looked back to her, before continuing. "I know you don't understand right now, but you will someday, I promise."

"You can't know that."

"No, but I believe it."

"That is the definition of illogicality."

He laughed. "I prefer faith... have a little faith, Cam."

There was a pause before she continued, "Faith is not part of my programming." Cameron countered.

He raised an eyebrow. "And you think it's a part of mine? Cameron, by its very nature faith does not come naturally- to any of us. It takes a leap, trust in the unknown, or despite of it."

"It is unadvisable to trust the unknown."

"I don't need to. I trust you. I have faith in _you_."

"You shouldn't. I have not given you reason to; and it is dangerous for you to place your trust in anyone but yourself, John."

He almost smiled at the slight chastisement. "I don't need a reason, faith, remember?"

She detected the teasing lilt to his tone. The one that often signified his ignoring her very valid point "John," She warned.

"Cameron." He replied, mainly for the pleasurable feel of it rolling off his tongue. His voice betrayed his body's aching tiredness however, and came out rough and dry.

She knew that further reminders of the necessity of sleep would be pointless. She studied the concerned, albeit exhausted expression of his face. "You are being kind." She observed. "Most aren't. To me, I mean. They hate me. You don't. Why?"

Her words forced his attention away from his aching muscles. Never before had she given an indication of being aware of the emotions of others, of his. He had relied, perhaps too heavily, on her not being able to read him. "Does it bother you, the way they hate you?" He asked, pointedly ignoring her question.

"No." She said simply. "Insofar as it does not impede my protecting you."

"Why not? If you can understand how they feel, how can it not?" Rarely had he challenged her like this, he didn't like to, and she could barely understand her psyche, let alone articulate it.

"I don't care if they hate me, because you don't." She said it calmly, as though it were perfectly obvious. Her gaze broke away from him and she stared stoically the right.

He didn't speak after that, after thirty seconds she glanced back to see him looking at her with furrowed brows. She looked away again, until twenty seconds later – "John?" She prompted.

"Why do you care that I don't hate you?" The fluorescent light overhead flickered painfully.

She didn't answer, instead replying "Why don't you?"

She uncrossed her arms and placed her hands upon the knees of her folded legs.

He, also, did not answer the question.

She was surprised when, moments later, he pushed himself away from the wall, and instead of leaving, moved to sit next to her. He mimicked her seating position and cautiously placed his right hand upon her left.

Her hand curled around his as she continued to look forward; neither entirely sure for whose comfort the gesture was meant.

...

John glanced over the balcony, seeing Riley standing near the garden, absentmindedly kicking the gravel. She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her. She looked confused and very concerned. Probably wondering what exactly Cameron was telling him, just how screwed she was. He had had a plan; patience and observation. But in light of recent developments, perhaps it was time to reconsider, to re-adjust the plan somewhat. And move it forward.

He turned to leave and join her, not noticing Cameron's stealthy shadow move below.

**Please don't hurt me! I swear this is a here and now Jameron story, not Cameron and Future John. **


End file.
